


For the Night is Dark

by Lovedmoviesb



Series: Richonne AUs [8]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Horror, Richonne - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Two strangers at odds in the Wild West come across an unwordly threat. Can they survive the evil waiting in the shadow of the mountains?A Halloween #Richonne short.
Relationships: Michonne/Rick Grimes
Series: Richonne AUs [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426960
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Escape

Thunder rumbled somewhere off near the distant horizon but fell on deaf ears. The sounds of the mare’s hooves dampened all other noise. The rhythmic clop was matched only by the frantic beating of Michonne’s heart. It rattled inside her ribcage like a wild beast. She drew in a harsh breath, ignoring the burning of her muscles and the forlorn neighing of her mount, determined. 

He was coming up behind her, and quickly. 

Michonne Hawthorne chanced a glance over her shoulder. She’d long ago lost her hat, but it was the least of her worries. Far beyond but gaining fast, a chestnut stallion was in hot pursuit. She could feel the eyes of the rider upon her, a terrible judgment burning in the pale irises. He shouted something, but the weather reared its head once more, swallowing the words under a crescendo of thunder and lightning. 

Beneath her, the mare began to slow, exhausted and flagging. Michonne made her mind up at once. With a grunt, she tugged at the reins, swinging her mount around. For an absurd moment, she felt like a knight from some very tale of old, mounted and ready to meet her foe. She drew her saber and urged her horse towards their pursuer. 

He sped up as well, his arm swinging, no doubt groping for the revolver at his side. Michonne braced herself, sitting up higher in the saddle. A crack rang out and Michonne feinted, a bullet soaring just feet away. A second shot followed it, but Michonne continued forward, her sword pointed out. With a yell, she came close enough to see the whites of his eyes. 

He cried out in surprise as the mare and Michonne both hit him full force, loosing him from his saddle and sending him careening to the ground. The revolver went off once more, firing useless into the air. Michonne seized the opportunity, leaping down to fight him head on. 

“Give it up!” he had the gall to demand anything of her, his words colored with the accent of a region far south. “You can’t run anymore, Michonne!”

She did not plan to run. He was all that was between her and freedom, and she had no intention of going to the noose or worse. 

She yelled once more, kicking out as fiercely as she could manage, slamming him back down into the dirt beneath him. He let out a bellow, grappling at her booted foot when she drew it back. He managed to get a hold but quickly released her when her saber came flying down towards him. 

She struck again, hitting only air. Michonne continued her assault, half-mad with fear, with exhaustion, and with desperation. 

Strong hands clasped in on her legs, tugging until she went down hard. She balled a fist but her blows did nothing to free her. He gripped her arms, wrestling her weapon from her and pinning her. His full weight pressed until she had no breath left. 

Michonne shut her eyes, preparing for the end. 

“Michonne Hawthorne,” his voice was just as winded as she felt. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Governor Phillip Blake.”

She gasped in surprise as he stood, yanking her like a rag doll to her feet. She didn’t have the strength to fight as he bound her hands tightly behind her back. He steadied her, fixing her with a no-nonsense stare. 

“You gonna behave?” he posed the query, “or am I gonna have to tie your legs too?”

“You should just kill me,” she groaned. She’d rather die out here then for the eyes of others. 

For a moment, something like sympathy flashed across his face, and the ice blue of his glare softened. 

“I ain’t gonna kill you,” he assured her. He reached for his pocket, shaking out a handkerchief. When he brought it near to her face, she struggled, wincing when it pressed to a gash near her hairline. 

Michonne’s mare gave a nervous whiny, underlined by another streak of lightning and booming thunder. 

“Just kill me,” she begged, her eyes off on the far horizon and the fading light. 

“You’re going back to Reno,” he told her. “You have to face justice.”

“And what of the men and women the Governor killed?” Michonne asked, her eyes narrowing. “What of the justice for the people he slaughtered for their land?”

His breath caught. “You should have left that to the authorities,” he told her, though it lacked the conviction of her earlier proclamation. 

“And is that why you came up from the south, Sheriff?” she dragged out his title, raising her brows. “Would you have delivered justice upon him?”

“I didn’t get the chance,” he answered simply. 

He took her arm, steering her not towards her mare, but his stallion. Holding her with one calloused hand, and an end of rope in the other, he tied her mare behind his mount. He busied himself with scooping her sword from the ground, tucking it into his belt. He turned to her. 

“Climb up,” he instructed, offering his hand. 

Michonne looked at it distrustfully. 

“I’d rather not throw you over the back like a bag,” he urged. 

“What a gentleman,” Michonne simpered in her falsest tones. 

He shook his head, but helped her up, securing her to his saddle. With a grunt, he swung up behind her, one arm around her waist to keep her from escaping, the other helping to guide the reigns. 

The storm grew overhead, snuffing out the moon and stars. Within minutes, the only source of light came in white-hot bolts. The horses nickered, spooked. The Sheriff soothed them in a low, gentle voice. 

The smell of mesquite precluded the deluge as the heavens opened, lashing down on them with ice-cold rain. Michonne did her best not to shiver. Water ran in rivlets down her locs and skin, rinsing away all evidence of her fight. The Sheriff’s arm tightened around her as both horses began to panic, rearing beneath them. 

Michonne was glad for his hold as the situation got out of hand. Her mare bucked wildly, breaking free. Summoning what strength was left, she ran, ignoring Michonne’s cry of protest. The Sheriff managed to keep them atop his mount through sheer tenacity. Michonne could feel his breathing catch as he struggled, attempting to calm the horse. 

The weather worsened, ushering in a chill Michonne could feel in her bones. Around them, the trees seemed suddenly sinister, the shadows thrown by the lightning moving like hunching figures between the trunks. 

“We need to go,” dread worse than fear of the noose struck her, piercing her heart like a knife. 

The Sheriff did not bother to disagree. He urged the horse forward, keeping a tight grip on the reins. Michonne craned her head, desperate to get her bearings. She could see the shadow of the Sierra’s behind them, closer than she ever intended on being. 

“We need to go,” she repeated more forcefully. 

“What do you think we’re doing?” the Sheriff asked through clenched teeth. His breath was warm against her neck as she struggled. 

“You aren’t from here,” Michonne pressed. “You don’t know what’s hidden in these mountains.”

“Bears?” he guessed. “Cougars?”

“Evil,” Michonne imparted. “Those coming west would do well to remember the ghosts of the past.”

The horse complained more still, swinging his head side to side. With a snort, he bolted, resigned to carry his burden, and sprinted headlong into the trees.

The Sheriff’s yelled instructions did nothing to stop the stallion. He tore into the trees, branches clawing and ripping at them. Michonne’s fingers dug into the Sheriff’s thighs as she struggled to hold on. They managed it for a hundred or so more yards until a low branch unseated them both. 

She went down hard, grateful for the Sheriff’s body as it broke her fall. He cried out in pain as she slammed into him, the pair of them landing in a pile of damp earth. It smelled of rot, sickly sweet. Michonne turned her face away. 

“Are you alright?” a rough southern accent clipped near her ear. 

Beyond the forest, thunder continued to rumble, muffled now. Rain dripped through the pines, landing with wet, irregular slaps. 

“We need to leave,” Michonne struggled to sit up. 

“We can’t even see,” the Sheriff pointed out, clearly irritated. He scrambled behind her, pushing her to her feet as he stood. 

The forest pressed in around them, shadows dancing down from above. The air was close in here, stale. Michonne fought the desire to bolt like the horses. 

“We need a fire,” the Sheriff muttered to himself, his hand on her arm anchoring her. “Can’t do anything until the sun comes up.”

Terror seized her. “Untie me,” Michonne demanded. 

He ignored her, dragging her along, poking at the underbrush in search of dry tinder. 

“Sheriff--” Michonne tried again, “we need a fire.”

He hummed the affirmative, still moving them along. 

“You’re going to build it with one hand?” she challenged. “How long will that take?”

“It’ll take the time it takes,” he answered, unconcerned. 

A howl rattled from a hundred or more yards off. Michonne prayed it was only wolves. 

“Sheriff…” she began again, softening her tone. 

“Grimes,” he supplied absently. 

“Grimes,” Michonne echoed. “I know these woods. There are dangers here. We need--”

The howl rose again, this time echoed by a dozen other voices. They began to chitter as though they were talking to one another, a high-pitched sound that could be likened to excitement. 

Even Sheriff Grimes froze. 

“Those aren’t animals,” he said quietly, his hand tightening. 

“My sword,” Michonne begged. 

There was a pause, punctuated by the snuffling of something wild, and more chittering screams. Michonne’s heart leapt into her throat. 

“Sheriff Grimes,” Michonne entreated. “I killed the Governor because he was an evil, unjust man. He murdered my friends, my family and smiled while doing it. I am not like him.”

The Sheriff’s breath caught as he clearly contemplated her words. He released her, his clothing rustling. She felt the ice-cold blade of her sword against the inside of her wrists. The rope splintered beneath it, falling away. 

“Quick,” he instructed. 

Michonne gathered everything that felt half-dry that she could touch, blood racing in her veins. They stacked it where it fell, hands brushing one another. Michonne stayed near the Sheriff’s side and her sword, working as fast as she could. 

He fumbled in his pockets again. A scratching sound heralded in the spark of a match. Sheriff Grimes lowered it to the pile, blowing. Michonne reached down, urging pine needles and twigs in. With a sound like a gust, the flames caught, leaping up. She had just a moment to delight in its warmth and light. 

“What is that?” the Sheriff’s question was little more than a ragged whisper. 

Michonne looked around, staring into the dozens of glowing pin pricks that surrounded them. They began to howl again, ducking and moving through the trees, drawing ever closer. 

“I need my sword,” Michonne stood up straight, resolved as ever to go down fighting.    
  


She prayed Sheriff Grimes felt the same. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick comes to terms with what is happening in the forest and new horrors are revealed.

Sheriff Rick Grimes drew nearer to Michonne, seeking to put himself between her and the dozens of eyes peering at them from between the trees. Each pair flickered, some crimson, some green as emeralds. He could have excused them as wildlife if it wasn't for the constant sounds they made. High-pitched and unnatural, the closest he could liken it to was an elk call. There were no elk in these hills, no wild cat that hunted in groups, no pack of wolves with such a whistling howl.

"My sword," Michonne repeated, her breathing labored.

Rick hesitated. Untying her had been a calculated enough risk. He hadn't expected her to turn on him while he pursued her, nor did he expect the strength in her assault. He'd been told he was chasing a monster, but all he found was a woman, desperate and terrified. Now he looked at her in the glow of the flames from the fire. The fear was still there in her dark brown eyes, but that same resolve hadn't faded.

"You think we can fight them all?" he asked in a low whisper, pressing the hilt of her weapon into her hand.

She gripped it, smooth fingers ghosting over his skin and sending goosebumps racing up his arm.

"We need fire," she said. "As much of it as we can muster."

He didn't question her, but set about growing their bonfire. Everything he could grasp from nearby went into the pile, twigs and pine needles and leaves. He groped about for bigger fuel, hoping to grasp branches. His palm closed in on something rock hard and smooth, too long to be a stone, too sturdy to be a stick.

As Rick drew it towards him, the eyes around them began to move, swarming and rushing to and fro between the trees. The chittering took on a decidedly more sinister tone, a wild squawking, like birds in a furious swarm.

He came to his feet at once, pressing his side to Michonne's. She stepped closer to him, her arm out. Her sword caught the red-hot glow of the fire, flashing scarlet and orange as she brandished it.

"How many bullets do you have left?" she asked in an urgent whisper.

"Three." Rick did not need to count. Every shot he'd fired at her echoed in his memory.

She sighed, clearly disappointed. "No extra ammo?"

"It's with the horse." He exhaled roughly to match her.

"Waste of bullets," she huffed.

On this, he could not disagree. "What are they?" he posited the question, his stomach seeming to catch in his throat.

Around them the creatures were beginning to take more solid forms, their outlines rough against the black backdrop of the forest. Some were jagged and spiked, some swirling like smoke, others scuttling about like insects near the forest floor. The only constant were the eyes, still glowing, still watching.

"If we survive this, I'll explain," Michonne promised. She stepped closer to him again, pressing full to him.

"Can they be killed?" He used his free hand to urge Michonne behind him as one of the creatures arched forward, dancing into the light for the blink of an eye only to disappear laughing back into the shadows.

"I don't know," the first tendrils of panic crept into her voice.

"They don't like the fire," Rick could see plainly that she had been right. "So we make it bigger."

"Alright," Michonne nodded, swallowing her fear. "Expand it. Push it out towards them. Quickly, before the rain breaks through."

With a yowl like an animal dying in agony, one of the creatures leapt through the ring of trees. It cut through the air like a knife, coming straight for Rick. Rick moved to push Michonne behind him, but she was far too fast. Her sword swung like a blur, coming between Rick and their foe. It went to pieces in the air, melting around the blade before dancing away in swirls. It reformed quickly. The eyes now flashed even brighter still.

It gave a howl and it's companions lent their voices, the sound echoing and breaking against the wall of the mountain behind them. It joined in with the thunder, a sinister symphony. Rick doubted it would ever leave his mind.

"What's that?" Michonne asked suddenly, her free hand gripping his arm. She drew it roughly towards the fire.

Rick winced at the heat, but the pain was quickly forgotten as he glimpsed what was in his grasp for the first time. The bone was yellowing and cracked, bleached pale in some places, still clinging to bits of forest and shreds of cloth. Part of the forearm was missing, but the hand hung from a broken wrist, the remaining fingers splayed in odd directions.

Bile rose in his throat at once. With a strangled cry, Rick dropped his burden. It fell, catching the flames beneath. For a moment, it seemed that the air was sucked from the environment. Even the creatures went quiet. Then the fire leapt higher, cresting over the heads of the frightened pair. Rick yanked Michonne away, pulling her into him so hard that they collapsed again in a heap on the ground, choking in the smoke.

The creatures screamed. There was no glee in it, only terror. Rick could make out the one that had attacked them moments ago. It was smoldering in the air, going to pieces as though it too had fallen into the fire, ripping itself apart until the eyes flickered and disappeared.

The others fled squealing, momentarily terrified. Only the fire remained, crackling cheerfully, diminished once again to its previous size.

Rick trembled, but Michonne was already up, recognition flashing in her dark eyes.

"The bones," she muttered. She turned, forcing the hilt of her sword into Rick's hands. "The bones," she repeated.

She tugged on the end of a particularly long branch, drawing the burning end up as though it were a torch. She stooped low, throwing light on the forest floor.

"Grimes," she addressed him. "We need to burn the bones."

It wasn't much to go off, but it was something. Rick copied her, following the light she provided. It didn't do much to cut through the inky darkness once they were a few feet away from the fire.

"I can't see them," Michonne huffed, frustrated.

"Throw everything in that you can," Rick offered a suggestion.

Together, they did just that. The bonfire grew by the meter, a behemoth thing, fueled by the forest around it. Everything he could close his palms on went in. Most only crackled, but occasionally, something would make the flames leap again, brightening the area like a flash of daylight. Then would come another screech of agony, far into the darkness but not so far as to be a comfort.

They may have been at it for hours when Rick could clutch at only dirt and soil. His clothing was soaked through, whether from rain or sweat he could not be sure. Michonne wasn't in much better of a state. She huddled near him, hair clinging to the side of her face, chest heaving. The cut near her hairline was open again, bleeding in a steady crimson trickle.

"It might be enough," she uttered, turning towards him.

Rick reached for her, pressing his sleeve as gently as he was able to her cut. She shivered but did not draw away.

"We'll be safe here," he offered this comfort, hoping it was true.

"Not for long," Michonne sighed. "The others will be back. They're hungry. They're always hungry." She began to rise, shaking. Rick helped her to her feet.

"Then we need to get out of this forest." It was a simple enough plan. Executing it would be something else entirely.

"We would need to take the fire," Michonne nodded. "And to take the shortest route."

"We can follow the tracks my horse left," Rick reasoned. "Follow them out and-"

"And take me to be hung?" Michonne offered, her voice deceptively light.

Words failed him. For a moment, Rick had forgotten the world outside of this.

"Then we get somewhere safe," he told her, wetting his lips.

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she clipped out.

Rick stayed close to her side as they continued their search, journeying to the edge of the firelight. Their mad dash to burn all they could had disrupted any sign or tracks. Rick cursed in frustration, turning his face up towards the trees. Any place the sky may have peered through was shrouded in storm clouds.

Michonne did not seem to be surprised in the slightest. She reached for his arm again, turning his attention to her.

"We do this my way now," she instructed.

Wordlessly, Rick nodded.

Methodically, they picked at their fire, Rick following Michonne's instructions. He formed a path of sorts with the burning branches, building a wall between them. It created a hedge, a flaming border.

"We can't outrun them," Michonne stoked the bonfire in the center. "Not on foot, not in the dark in a storm. So we outlast them."

"How do we do that?" Rick asked. He could see them, the pinpricks out in the distance, red like blood, green like moss, all coming closer.

Michonne continued on as though she did not hear him. "Burning the bones destroyed some. I bet they're everywhere though. Scattered by animals and time and weather…" she sounded disgusted. "All the evidence hidden."

"What evidence?" Rick retreated from the fiery wall, stepping lightly to rejoin her.

"Tell me, Sheriff Grimes-"

"Rick," he corrected her.

She blinked at him, caught off guard.

"Sheriff Rick, then," she amended. "What do you know of this region?"

He shrugged, ignoring the snuffling of the beasts creeping towards them. "It's wild, uncharted-"

"Only to those who encroach," Michonne corrected. "People have lived here for centuries. They know this land down to the dust beneath your feet. In the summer, it's a haven of life. In the winter, it brings death to those who don't know better. You can starve in the shadow of this mountain. You can freeze. You can become a monster."

A story, half-legend, began to sharpen in his mind. "There was a group," he began, his recollection fuzzy.

"A family," she said. "Two, actually. They had some strangers with them. Two people who knew this land. They didn't heed their advice, didn't heed the advice of all the others who begged them to stay on the more trodden trail. They thought they knew better. They pushed on into these mountains even as the air cooled and the snow fell. They got lost. And they got hungry."

"That's a rumor," Rick countered, memory rushing in. "A ghost story."

Michonne tilted her head, looking hard at him. Around them, the shadows arrived, dancing close to the flames only to rear back, spitting and hissing.

"Does it seem like a story, Sheriff Rick?" she challenged.

He turned away from her, back to the forest and its monsters. Death watched them from the shadows, eager now, and angry.

"What do we do?" he asked Michonne.

"We survive," she said. "Then run with the sun."

He reached for the center fire, grasping a branch. He brandished it like Michonne brandished her sword.

"Alright," he agreed, steeling himself.


	3. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michonne and Rick come to an understanding

There were at least two dozen if her count was correct. Michonne mulled this number over, considering the implications. If they fled, they ran the risk of falling victim, but the fire would not last forever. To die by them was to become them. To become them was worse than the noose, worse than watching the village burn, worse than the emptiness that had filled her soul since she snuffed the life out of the Governor. 

“Phillip Blake,” The Sheriff demonstrated his uncanny ability to echo her thoughts. “What kind of man was he?”

Michonne scowled, taken aback. “That’s what you want to discuss right now?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “We can go mad watching monsters try to find a way to kill us for a few more hours. Or we could pass the time.”

“Do you always pass the time with people you arrest?” she challenged. 

He considered this. “Most of the time, it’s more black and white,” the Sheriff said. “Murderers. Thieves. Rapists. You though…”

“I killed him,” Michonne reminded him. “Stabbed him and let him bleed out. Didn’t they tell you?”

“They mentioned it,” Rick paused, listening as thunder rumbled overhead. “They didn’t say why.”

“He needed to face justice,” Michonne pushed more kindling into the fire. They were running low. The eyes pressed in, daring to come within throwing distance. Her sword managed to dissuade most of them, but their fear would not last forever. 

“He massacred a village?” Sheriff Rick continued his interrogation. 

“Burnt it down. Had any survivors shot.” The words sat like ash on her tongue. “Dozens of lives all for one man’s ambition and vanity. So I killed him. And I would do so again.”

Lightning flashed, sending the creatures skittering for the shadows. Michonne swallowed the sour taste rising up her throat. 

Sheriff Rick let out a kind of low grunt. “You know,” he began, idly stoking the fire where it began to wane. “They say the west is wild and lawless. But I think people are like this no matter what the law says.” He shook his head, his eyes glazing over with some memory. “Or at least they are in Georgia.”

“Passed through Georgia,” Michonne found herself muttering. “Went as fast as I could.”

“Smart,” he admitted. 

“Thought it might be better out west. Less hate.” She’d been happy for a long while. It had all gone up in smoke.

“There’s gotta be somewhere,” the Sheriff sighed. 

“Somewhere where people aren’t people?” Michonne let out a wry laugh. 

“Somewhere where people can make the best of things,” he amended. 

“Maybe,” she sucked at the inside of her cheek, attempting to will the thought away. 

“I shouldn’t have shot at you,” the Sheriff said suddenly. “Even when I was pulling my gun, I knew it was wrong.”

“You missed,” Michonne pointed out. 

“Thank God,” the Sheriff exhaled roughly. “All the same, I’m sorry.”

“You were doing your job,” Michonne nudged at the damp earth, resolutely avoiding the Sheriff’s eyes. 

“Doesn’t change right and wrong,” he said plainly. 

She searched for a way to answer this, but their conversation died in the echo of a rattling howl. It sank through to the quick of her, leaving a chill so cold that Michonne could barely feel the heat from the flames. The back of her neck went clammy at once, water dripping down beneath the collar of her clothing. She tilted her face up and was met with fat droplets of rain. 

The trees around them began to sway with the force of it, bending beneath the elements, spilling water in great splashes to the forest floor. The fire hissed, fighting to stay lit even as it diminished rapidly. 

Michonne came to her feet, the Sheriff half a second behind her. He was close enough to feel the wet fabric of his clothing and the rain dripping off his hat. He removed it, shaking it roughly before lifting it over her head. She trembled as it settled over her locs, shocked by the gesture. 

“We’re going to have to run,” his voice was rough and deadly serious. Rain streaked down his face, taking blood and mud with it. He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, looking around as though he could discern a secret exit from this hellish situation.

She nodded. “Grab a torch. We stay close. We move fast.”

Her heart pounded as she followed her own instructions, gathering a long branch from the smoldering fire. The shadows were closer still, the eyes glowing bright. She could make out features now: a nose here, a twisted mouth there, the imprints of men and women and children. 

With a deafening crack, lightning struck the tree directly above them, sending a branch careening to the forest floor. It landed in a blaze, showering embers around them. Michonne watched as the shadows leapt, momentarily startled. 

“Now,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

Her legs were stiff but she forced them to move, adrenaline pumping through the muscles. She held her sword at the ready, praying it would be enough. The Sheriff was right by her side, keeping pace, a torch held aloft in one hand and his free hand holding her arm at the elbow. She was glad for his presence, glad to not be alone. 

They followed the path that the storm laid out, running blindly save for the glow from the lightning streaking above. Michonne’s stomach roiled, her blood pumping in her ears. She could feel the shadows on their heels, pressing in from all sides, ebon teeth gnashing while their owners laughed and squealed. 

She swung her sword, catching one, but another was there to replace it. Claws tore at her clothing, scraping the skin. It burned like acid, bubbling at her flesh. She cried out but did not slow down. 

The Sheriff similarly struggled. Darkness crept in, rushing for his face. It curled around quicker than she could have fathomed. He yelled, his steps faltering while he swung his torch up at his own head. 

The screams of the creature mixed with his. Michonne thrust her blade as close as she dared. The shadow peeled away with a fearsome roar, leaving a bloody trail in its place. 

“Rick!” his name tore from her lips in shock. 

The Sheriff wiped his face with a sleeve, reaching for her again. His blue eyes peered through the streaks of crimson, still bright with determination. 

“I’m fine,” he assured her, ignoring the gash across his nose and cheeks. “Run!”

It took a strength Michonne wasn’t sure she possessed to keep herself moving. The Sheriff’s fingers dug into her arm as they dragged one another along. Cuts opened along her limbs from trees, from enemies, burns from the torches and the monsters alike. She ran forward, ducking and scrambling over roots and branches. 

Something closed around her ankles and tugged hard. Michonne fell, swinging out her hands to catch herself. She could hear the Sheriff urging her to her feet, but could see nothing except the glowing irises closing in on her. Up close, they were a hodgepodge of darkness and twisted features. A stench rushed into her lungs, the smell of rot and death. Michonne choked, rolling over, her hands grasping for her dropped sword.

They closed in only on dirt and twigs. The darkness grew and grew, pressing in until it was crushing, gnawing and scratching. Her whole body felt aflame. She cried out, scrambling to push back, to fight. Thunder boomed but the light was lost to her. There was only the taste of blood and the gleeful laughter of the monsters. 

A rush of fresh air swept in suddenly along with a burst of flame. The darkness cleared from Michonne’s face, allowing her a glance above. The fire swung back, near enough to feel the heat. 

“Michonne,” Sheriff Rick’s voice was close, much closer than she expected. “Michonne!”

Something got pressed into her palm. She recognized the feel of the hilt of her sword immediately. One bloodied hand reached for her, yanking her upwards. 

She gathered her feet beneath her, swinging to match him. The monsters screamed, still lashing out but with less ferocity. They dodged her sword and the flame both. She made it to her knees but when she attempted to stand, her ankle cried out in protest. She slumped forward again. Rick was there to catch her. 

“Hold on,” he instructed. 

With a grunt, he thrust the torch outward, sending their attackers scurrying back. Without breaking momentum, he scooped her up, taking her weight against his shoulder.

“Here,” Michonne took the torch, brandishing it in their defense. 

He ran again, slower this time, helping Michonne along. She winced, biting down so hard that she could taste blood, but kept up with him. She swung the torch, determined to keep the creatures back. 

Rain flooded them, streaming into her eyes. The ground beneath grew sticky, the mud sucking at their booted feet. It became harder still to flee. The trees grew thicker as they moved, the forest tightening around them. 

“Shit,” Rick cursed. He moved them to and fro, seeking to find an exit.

“Sheriff,” she called to him. “You should go.” She attempted to untangle herself from him. 

He turned to her, startled. “Not a chance,” he assured her in a fierce voice. “Can you hold them off for a minute?”

Michonne nodded. She raised the sword and torch both, leaning her weight against the nearest tree. She waved them indiscriminately in wide arcs, watching the eyes glowing through the smoke and rain. 

Another crack of lightning illuminated the area. Michonne could see the faces of the dead. Their mouths were gaping chasms, wide open and famished. It was enough to set her shaking. 

“Michonne,” Rick drew her attention, clasping her arm again. He lifted her without preamble, shoving her between a cluster of gnarled tree trunks. 

The fire came with her. Rick’s face snuffed out of vision as she squeezed through the tight space. She landed with a wet slap on the other side, her sword falling from her hands. Michonne ignored it, turning instead to reach back through. Rick’s palms were rough against hers. She pulled, ignoring the pain shooting in waves up her leg. 

He fought his way through with a grunt, slicked in blood and mud and rain. On the other end, the creatures began to fight, yanking at the Sheriff. He slid back half a foot, squirming the whole way. 

“Run!” he urged her, his hand sliding from hers. 

Michonne held the light higher, watching the shadows dance across his face. She had a startling recollection of charging him on horseback just a few hours ago. 

“Michonne,” his voice was deadly calm, his expression mild even through the pain. “ _ Go _ .”

She stepped back, chest heaving, mind reeling. She could hear the creatures on the other side snarling and cackling, delighted by this turn of events. They were trapped behind the Sheriff. She had the light, she had the sword, and it seemed she had his permission. 

“Go,” he repeated. 

Lightning streaked above. Thunder chased it, rattling so hard that Michonne could feel it. For a moment, she could see the world around her, the tight knot of trees, and the sharp drop just behind her. 

She dropped the torch, reaching with both hands for her companion. With a yell, she managed to tug him free. He caught her around the waist, staggering in the mud beneath them. 

“You should have let me go,” he told her breathlessly. 

Michonne did not bother to answer. She tugged harder still, urging him forward, her gaze on the eyes streaming through the now open gap in the trees. 

“I need you to trust me, Rick,” she told him. 

He bent, gathering her sword up and the torch, flickering feebly. He pressed her weapon back into her grasp, then turned, jabbing what remained of the fire into the opening behind them. The creatures screamed, retreating a foot,

“I’m with you,” he promised, following her lead. 

With a deep breath, Michonne yanked them both, taking them screaming over the edge of the cliff. 

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The free fall was terrible, a sharp drop through the emptiness of the space around them. Rick’s heart felt liable to stop, and a scream formed in his throat that never made it past his lips. 

Michonne’s hands dug painfully into his arms, climbing higher until they could wrap around his shoulders. He pulled her tighter still, feeling the hammering of her heart against his and the soft texture of her hair against his stubbled cheek. The hilt of her sword pressed against his back, still clutched in Michonne’s hand.

If the fall had been terrifying, the descent into water was infinitely more so. The air rushed out of him in a hard swoop, the cold so painful that it was akin to being stabbed. He gasped, his mouth filling with the frigid water. 

Michonne’s legs bumped him, reminding him to kick, to fight. They battled their way to the surface clinging to one another. He urged her up, emerging seconds after her. The first breath was like a rebirth. He sucked air in furiously, trying to calm himself, trying to avoid going into shock. 

“Are you ok?” Her voice was near his ear. Though he could not see her, he could feel her cheek against his. 

“I’m ok,” he assured her. He reached for her face, stroking a thumb down to her chin. “Are you?”

She chuckled wryly. “It’s so cold I can’t feel the pain in my ankle anymore.”

“Small blessings,” he remarked. 

They floated for a moment, holding tight. Their relief was short-lived. Above them came a familiar shriek. Rick did not need to look up to know that the eyes were back, staring down at them. 

“We need to keep going.” Michonne’s words were an exhausted sigh. “There’s a river. If we can follow it…”

“We’ll be out,” Rick finished for her. 

He considered, doing his best to ignore the chittering of the monsters above him. Blindly, he groped around. Lightning again proved to be their saving grace. The lake, though deep, did not appear to be so wide as to be unable to traverse. He could see the run off, a narrow river leading away from the cliff. 

“They’re coming,” Michonne warned. Another crack of lightning illuminated her worried expression. 

Rick nodded, moving already. He reached for a hollowed log floating nearby, pulling it towards them. 

Michonne shivered when he called her name. Rick gently untangled her hands from around his neck, turning her around. “Hold on to this.”

She did not argue, clinging to the lifeline. He arranged himself behind her, placing his hands over hers. They began to kick the moment he was secure, propelling them both forward. They made it to the mouth of the river when the howling began again, closer than Rick anticipated. 

He kicked harder still, willing his weary muscles to continue. The storm raged on, pouring water down, sending the river frothing below them. The current sped up, helping them along. Rick gripped the sodden bark of their float, holding as tightly as he could. 

The howls around them grew frustrated as the shadows struggled to keep pace, chasing them along the banks. Michonne turned her face toward them, raising her sword. She began to slip beneath Rick, almost disappearing into the dark water.

“You have to hold on,” Rick told her, attempting to secure her. His limbs were nearly frozen. It was all he could do to keep holding on himself. 

She fought, seeking to fend off any attack. Her arm trembled beneath the weight of her weapon. 

“You have to let it go,” Rick urged, fearful now that she would fall, that he would be without her. 

The monsters snapped and snarled, but would not enter the water. The storm strengthened, swirling and churning as they picked up more speed. A sudden onset of rapids took them, tugging at the pair as though they were nothing more than fallen twigs. They spun, going under for a moment. 

One of Rick’s hands slipped. Michonne’s body bumped against his, limbs striking one another in the surge. His head went under a second time. Through the haze, Rick could make out the eyes, fuzzy in the distance, and Michonne with her sword, desperately trying to hold on.

They struck a half submerged rock. The part of the branch that Rick was holding on to splintered, sending him deeper still. He let out a yell but it was swallowed by the sounds of rushing water and thunder. He fought to resurface, paddling against the undertow, his exhaustion rapidly catching up with him. 

Lack of oxygen dulled his sense, darkening his gaze until everything was black. Even sound faded until it was only a slight ringing in his ears. Panic gave way quickly to acceptance, his body finally spent. 

He hoped, at least, that Michonne would get away. 

Strong hands groped at his clothing, yanking him up. He surfaced with a broken gasp, sputtering and blinking. 

“Hold onto me!” Michonne instructed with a yell, drawing him nearer. 

Rick’s hands closed back in on their float, pinning Michonne between. Her fingers worried at his face, smoothing water away as best as she could. She cupped his jaw with one hand, the other holding tightly to their lifeline. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” she scolded, her voice shaking around the words. 

He leaned against her, relieved and exhausted. “Where’s your sword?” he questioned, throat burning. 

“I don’t think I’ll need it anymore,” she admitted. 

Around them, the eyes were falling behind, far in the distance and growing farther still. The river bared them away, rushing through the mountains and trees. Michonne was warm against him, holding onto his hands, helping keep him anchored. She lulled against their lifeline, utterly exhausted. His head fell against her shoulder and she pushed back, sharing whatever little body heat was left between them. 

“I think we might make it,” Michonne exhaled, going lax. 

Rick said nothing, only held fast to her hands. 

He may have dozed off a time or two, or perhaps his mind simply ran blank. An eternity stretched before them. Gradually, the storm abated, giving way to the dewey light of dawn. The sun was a welcome gift, its beams bringing life back to the cold and stiff pair. 

They drifted until they hit the shore, spilling out near a small pond. Rick pushed Michonne along, mindful of her ankle. They collapsed in the pebbled sand, still holding one another. 

He was treated to his first real look at her, unmarred by rain or darkness or fear. She was exhausted, her bronze skin scraped and bruised, but she was alive. It was enough to bring a smile to his face. 

She smiled back, similarly examining him. She laid her palm against his cheek, curling her fingers up into his short hair. Rick relaxed beneath her touch. 

“We made it,” he exhaled, reaching back for Michonne. Her muscles tightened when he cupped a hand around her shoulder. 

“What next?” she asked tentatively. Her dark eyes found his, a well of questions swirling in the irises. 

There was much to say, and Rick felt infinitely grateful for the time that laid ahead of them. The Sierras were in the distance now, not nearly so sinister from afar. Beyond, an evergreen forest spread out, its occupants waking to greet the sun with cheerful chittering. He wondered what opportunity existed beneath those trees, what kind of life two strangers could forge there.

“What do you say we keep going,” Rick suggested, sitting up. “Find somewhere safe?” He climbed to his feet, reaching down for her. “We can figure out the rest afterwards.”

Michonne took his hand, joining him at his side. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. She linked her fingers with his, ducking her chin to disguise her smile.

They held fast to one another as they continued forward, putting the past behind them. 

-l-l-l-l-

The residents of Reno were confused when a familiar pinto-colored mare wandered back into town, foaming at the mouth and shaking. When the stallion joined without a rider or even a saddle, confusion turned to worry. 

The storm raged on for days in the valley. By the time a group could reach the forest at the border, there was no sign of their brand-new sheriff or his quarry. After a few fruitless hours, the search was given up. It wasn’t just the horses who felt nervous in the shadows of the Sierras. 

Rumors grew, fueled by strange sightings. Hunters swore up and down that large sections of the forest were burned, the scorch marks running through the trees like a makeshift path. Others claimed to see something inhuman hiding in the underbrush, creatures with sharp teeth and crimson eyes. Whatever the truth, there was clearly nothing good to be found near Donner Lake, certainly not in the cold months. 

They gave the Sheriff a funeral of sorts, and put all thoughts of the killer from their minds. Perhaps one day one of them might turn up again, but that was a problem for a future date. Another governor was appointed and another lawman. With winter coming, the residents had enough to be getting on with. 

If anyone had bothered to journey past the lake and follow the winding river south for a hundred or so miles, they may have found themselves on the tranquil shores of Tahoe. Half shaded by pines and facing the water, a cabin had been recently erected. It was one of a dozen modest but lovely homes dotting the landscape, a hodgepodge mix of folks who didn’t quite fit in. The citizens of Reno would have been shocked and appalled by what was inside the newest addition, but the unlikely pair who called the cabin home couldn’t be fussed to care. 

Michonne tilted her head up towards the first snowfall of the year. Ice drifted down in graceful swirls, landing on her eyelashes and cheeks. She exhaled, watching her breath cloud, enjoying a few more moments in the warmth of the sun. 

“We should be ready,” Rick stepped back to her side, his hand creeping around her waist to hold her tight. 

She leaned into him, turning her face into his bearded cheek. “We’re ready,” she assured him. 

Between the trees, the only thing stirring were the mammals and birds, hunkering down for the winter. Soon this world of theirs would be frozen. She wasn’t dreading the prospect of being safe and warm inside her new home. Her mind wandered back in time and hundreds of miles away, up the river and past Lake Donner, to a life that seemed so far removed from this new one. 

“Are you alright?” Rick whispered the question, his lips brushing hers. 

She turned into his embrace, nuzzling closer still. He held her tightly, burying his hands in her locs. She angled her head up and he was there to meet her, kissing her soundly with practiced ease. 

“I’m fine,” she promised, smiling against him.

In the distance, the elk began to low, heralding in the twilight. Michonne took the former sheriff’s hands, walking back into their house. He shut the door behind them, barring them inside, safe and sound. 

  
  



End file.
